Mary Blayney (45 page)

The footmen stuffed the buns into their mouths. The maids slipped them into their pockets. The household resumed its normal routine. Only Michael had seen the sadness in Olivia’s eyes.

28

I
T DID NOT TAKE LONG
for Michael to understand the routine at Pennford Castle, from observation as well as Lord David’s terse explanations.

“The duke is not concerned with the day-to-day details here. He will be returning to London as soon as he is satisfied that Olivia is safe and her reputation intact.”

The two men were riding toward the forest cottage where Olivia had been held and where she and Michael had taken shelter in the storm. It was a gloomy day and Lord David had been delayed by a group of tenant farmers who had come to report that their seedlings were flooding or rotting in the fields. Michael thought that this pointless trip was just an excuse to take a break from the endless headaches caused by the rainy weather.

“So, Lord David, you are the overall estate manager. There is Winthrop as house manager and the land steward who was with the farmers this morning.”

Lord David went on to explain that Mrs. Winthrop was the housekeeper, but some undisclosed ailment had kept her in their quarters for the last year. She still ran the castle but now it was through her husband and the maids who came to her with problems.

“Winthrop’s voice is his greatest asset.”

“Yes, my lord. I can imagine him telling the footmen to jump in the moat and they would only wonder ‘With or without our shoes on?’”

To their mutual surprise they did find something at the cottage: definite signs that it had been occupied again. There were new stacks of wood and more hay in the shed.

Lord David poked around the loft and tossed down a chicken bone or two. “Well fed, they were. Which eliminates unemployed mill workers or destitute soldiers. I think our kidnappers might have been in residence.” Lord David came down face-first as though it were a ladder onboard a ship, his feet barely touching the rungs. “That means they have not finished their job, or are afraid to report back to their employer.”

“Or both,” Michael suggested.

“Hmmm.” Lord David stirred up the ashes in the fireplace and said no more until they were on their way back to Pennford.

“It means that Olivia may not be as safe as we thought.”

“My lord, she is as safe as we can make her. I assure you that no one will harm her while I am a part of the household.”

Lord David accepted that with another “Hmmm,” and let the conversation end.

Michael was considering the ramifications of that outing one night as he made his first evening round of the castle grounds.

There had been no sign of an interloper and he was beginning to think that he should find someone else to do this night patrol.

Standing along the tree line he scanned the windows, all of them dark. He stepped out from the protection of the tree and pulled his cap lower, burying his chin in the scarf around his neck, and considered how to hire someone when he knew no one.

A rustling sound brought him back to the moment. Some night animal foraging, he decided. Michael stood still and waited, even though he knew it was unlikely it was someone passing a signal. The culprits never fell that easily.

Michael added good hearing to his list of wants for the night guard. Loyal, familiar with the grounds, able to work without supervision. One who could handle routine and still be prepared for trouble. A soldier, ideally one who had been a scout.

He would have to ask if there was anyone recently returned who had been in the army. Besides him. More than anyone, a soldier knew the danger inherent in a job that was for the most part boring—until that one moment when it wasn’t. Better not be asleep when that happened.

A snap of a twig broke through the night sounds of the wind in the trees. This was a little sound, one that did not belong with the others, with a human voice accompanying it.

Michael tightened his hand on his hefty walking stick and patted the knife strapped to his arm. He found a tree big enough to hide behind and waited.

There were at least two of them, as one was talking. He could hear the sound of a voice but the wind carried the words down toward the village.

Most likely one was telling the other to move more carefully. They were slow enough, on their hands and knees, and would be impossible to see if one was not so clumsy that each bush rustled as he crept by.

It was night, and unless they were spying on someone else there was no need for such secrecy. Even as he had the thought a man’s voice reached him as they finally came close enough to his hiding spot.

“Here, little sheep. Where are you?” A pause and again “Come to me, little sheep, and I will give you rest.”

Garrett pulled off his gloves, ready for a fight, before the words registered. A shepherd looking for lost sheep? That was strange. There were thousands of sheep in this part of Derbyshire, but the chance that one had wandered onto the Meryon property was highly unlikely.

“Stupid Galatian. Where are you?” the same voice called, loud with frustration. “I’m tired and want to go to bed.”

Michael knew who it was now, and it was even more strange. Unless the biblical phrase “stupid Galatians” was used by all his parishioners, it was the vicar. Reverend Drummond was doing what he had done all his life, looking for the one lost out of the hundred, just as Jesus had. The chance there was a man wandering the grounds in search of spiritual rescue was highly unlikely, so Michael decided on a small lie, God forgive him.

“I can see it, Reverend Drummond.”

The vicar stood up. “Where?”

“Over there. Can you see him? He’s headed back down toward the village. Come, we can catch him if we hurry.” It was more a trick than a lie, and the easiest way to move the old man toward home.

“I cannot run at the best of times and it is so dark that I would most likely fall and break my leg.” The reverend proved his point by stumbling in the thirty feet it took to come up beside him. Michael grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.

“Thank you, kind sir. Why, it’s Mr. Garrett, is it not? You are a rescuer of lost sheep yourself, are you not? Have you ever considered church work?”

“Yes, Reverend, but I am not suited for some of the more political aspects involved.”

“There is a solution to that.” Reverend Drummond spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Ignore the politics. I warn you, if you make that choice you had better love where you serve because you will never leave it.” The vicar pushed his few wisps of hair off his face and went on. “Your true mission as a churchman is simple. Convince people the Creator wants them to be happy and fulfilled and that joy and hope are the surest paths there.”

Michael did not answer, though he did spend a spare second wondering when was the last time he had felt happy and fulfilled. The answer came to him as fast. He ignored it.

“Mind you, most will never believe it is that simple. Lady Olivia is the rare exception. Big Sam, too, though he does not have enough understanding and believes because it comes naturally.”

They walked on in near silence, Mr. Drummond humming a tune, one that Michael did not recognize. Some hymn, no doubt. What was it like to spend one’s life spreading a message that no one would accept?

To take a page from the vicar, to do it with joy and hope that was all that was needed. The brief personal sermon left Michael wondering at that puzzle.

“Here we are,” said the reverend as they reached the path to his house. “I know where I am now.”

Mrs. Blackford hurried down the path toward them, wrapped in a long wool cloak.

“There you are.” Her relief at seeing the vicar was obvious. “Reverend Drummond, it is too nasty a night to be out looking for lost sheep.”

“Yes, the wind is a raw one. But don’t you know that I must be about the Father’s business. He will protect me.”

“Come inside. Now. Please.”

“I will. I will. You are too much like the biblical Martha, my dear.”

“It is what I am paid for.”

Drummond went into the house, and from where he stood outside, Michael could see him climb the stairs.

“Thank you for bringing him home, Mr. Garrett. I was about to send for help.” Mrs. Blackford began to walk back up the path. Michael followed her. She was not wearing a cap and her hair was in a braid down her back.

“Does it happen often?”

“No, sir. Only when he is worried about something. I should have guessed it would happen.”

“Because of Olivia’s kidnapping?”

“I expect so. It has upset all of us and he can sense distress. He went out looking, thinking it was nothing worse than a lost sheep.”

“For a vicar committed to the spiritual well-being of his flock a lost sheep might well be the worst failing he could conceive of.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said firmly. “With a lost sheep there is always the hope of salvation. It is a dead sheep, never found, that is the hardest to forgive yourself for.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience.”

Color rose to her cheeks and Annie Blackford pressed her lips together. He waited.

“You do not strike me as a man who thrives on the pain of others.”

He bowed his head. “My apologies. Now that I am staying, I find I am interested in all the details of life in Pennsford. I am entrusted with keeping the residents of the castle safe and I was hoping to count you as an ally.”

“Come in for a moment, just inside the door.” She stepped back with a gesture for him to follow her. “Reverend Drummond will be our chaperone if you are worried for your reputation.”

“Surely you misspoke. It is your reputation that is threatened by a nighttime meeting.”

“No, I have no reputation to ruin. I have been married and divorced.”

His first reaction was disbelief. Here was another scrap of honesty: If all were divorced who should be, there would be few who stayed married.

“It’s true,” she added when the silence had gone on too long. “In fact I am one of the vicar’s lost sheep.”

“Mrs. Blackford!” the vicar called down from the upper story. “I am going to pray now. Good night, dear lady.”

“Good night, sir.” She gave Michael her complete attention. “I cannot leave him at his prayers too long or he will not be able to stand.”

Surely this is penance enough, Michael thought. He was about to say his own good night but Mrs. Blackford had not finished.

“I do want to warn you, sir.”

Michael tilted his head, “About what?”

“Olivia. Be careful of her. She is the sweetest, most generous soul in the world. But she is also spoiled, and used to having her own way even if she must fight for it.”

“That was how she lived through her kidnapping. I already know she is stubborn. How does it affect me?”

“You are to keep the castle safe. Both of us know that is a euphemism for keeping Olivia safe. I think that the duke is afraid for her. If not for her safety, but for her reputation. She thinks it does not matter. She will only know how much it matters when she has lost it.”

“I have seen that happen, too. Gabriel Pennistan is a friend of mine.”

“Oh. I see.” She considered that for a moment but was discreet enough not to pursue it. He liked her more and more.

“Big Sam has always been the best of chaperones. But I am not sure he is up to a threat that is not physical.”

“Your thoughts mirror my own, Mrs. Blackford. I have an idea on how to handle that.”

She seemed satisfied with that assurance, and smiled. “Allies, I do believe.” She curtseyed. He bowed good night.

“Do tell Mr. Drummond that I am sorry he did not find his lost sheep.”

“Oh, but Mr. Garrett, he did.” Mrs. Blackford closed the door on the next sentence. “He found you.”

29

M
ICHAEL CONSIDERED VISITING
the tavern. It wasn’t too late and it was likely the few who took their drink seriously would still be about. As he had known for years and proved yet again tonight, evening hours were the best time to find out the truth. Dark was the time when men and women were more willing to share the secrets they kept to themselves during the daylight.

He stood at the end of the path to the vicar’s house debating the wisdom of leaving the castle unguarded when the smell of a cigar followed by the sight of a man walking up from the village made the decision for him.

“Closed up for the night,” Lord David announced, as he pinched out his smoke and tucked it in his pocket.

“Do you ever set your clothes on fire?” Michael asked as he fell into step beside him.

“Not anymore. Years of practice.”

They walked on in silence, each testing the other. This time Michael spoke first.

“That was not a social call. I found Mr. Drummond on the Pennford grounds searching for lost sheep.”

“Hmmm, yes, that does happen. So your visit to the vicar’s house was related to your work?”

Lord David did not seem completely convinced.

“Yes,” Michael said firmly, feeling real sympathy for Mrs. Blackford. “My lord, technically, I am supposed to report to you. And I would have mentioned this incident in the morning.”

“Technically.” Pennistan looked at him and gave a small smile, not unlike the duke’s. “That is the most important word in that sentence.”

Michael smiled back and waited for what he knew was coming.

“I do not see you as the sort who will report to anyone.”

Michael laughed. He could not help it. “And you do not seem the type who will tolerate insubordination.”

“We understand each other.”

“And will work well together.”

Now Lord David did laugh, a short choked sound but it was amusement. “With the occasional time in the boxing ring to clear up any misunderstandings.”

Michael let that nominal threat hang in the air while he debated telling Lord David his idea. Michael knew he was as susceptible to the cover of night as anyone around him. But he liked this man, quick temper, ready fists and all. Lord David made the decision easy with his next question, proving his mind was quick as well.

“What are you going to do about Big Sam?”

“We are agreed that something must be done?”

Lord David answered with a nod.

“If I have observed correctly, my lord, no one patrols the grounds after dark.” They had reached the gatehouse but Michael continued up the drive with Lord David.

“There has not been a set patrol for years. I make the circuit when the mood strikes me.”

When he could not sleep, Michael translated. “I have taken it on from the first.”

“A waste of your talents.”

“But a good way to learn the castle, the grounds, who is about or where they should not be.” Lord David nodded and Michael continued, feeling like a schoolboy who was afraid to ask for what he wanted. “I am convinced that Lady Olivia is no longer in any physical danger. But there are thousands looking for work and this miserable spring means even worse food shortages. There will be unrest on all levels, and I would not be too confident that even quiet Pennsford will be free of it.”

Lord David held up his hand and stopped. With another gesture he walked over to the shed behind the stable and knocked on the door. “Out of there, you two. If I find you again you will have to find new positions.”

There was no response and Lord David walked back to him without checking further.

“How did you know someone is there?” Michael asked, embarrassed that he had never thought to check the shed.

“A guess.”

They both heard the door open and a man came running up to them calling out, “Sir, my lord!”

They both turned around to find one of the footmen trailing after them. Lester. Michael remembered him as one of the cinnamon bun testers.

“I’m the only one in the shed, my lord. I swear it. Patsy and I are going to do it right and proper. I sleep in the shed, sir, because home is too crowded.” He looked distraught and earnest.

“See that you sleep alone.” Lord David gave him a curt nod. “I will expect to hear the banns within the month.”

“Yes, sir.” Lester touched a hand to his forehead in the old gesture of deference. “You see, sir, I come into some money—”

“Within the month.” Lord David cut him off with the three words.

“Yes, sir,” Lester said. He jerked a bow to them both and went back to his shed.

“Who?” Lord David patted his pocket as he spoke.

Back to the man of few words. Michael tried to recall what they had been talking about before they so rudely interrupted the footman’s sleep. Ah, yes, the night guard.

“My current candidate is Big Sam.” God help him. That sounded as tentative as a girl asking for a new gown. He hurried on before Lord David could speak. “I want your opinion first but I will ask Lady Olivia, then the duke, if you think asking the duke is necessary.”

Lord David gave it some thought. How that was different from a prolonged silence of disapproval, Michael was not sure.

“Samuelson would awaken you constantly. He will sometimes perceive a threat where there is none.”

“I am used to that from my army days.”

“In many ways Samuelson is a child.”

Michael nodded.

“It’s a wise idea to present it to Olivia first.”

“Lady Olivia made it very clear to me that he is part of her household.”

“It’s a good idea, for any number of reasons.” Lord David kept nodding as if each nod checked off a reason. “Big Sam is a competent guard. No one will question his loyalty. He is scrupulously conscientious. As you will find out.”

Michael took the last sentence as approval.

“I would wait a few weeks, Garrett. Otherwise Big Sam and certainly Olivia will take his new position as a criticism of his behavior. Olivia will not be going anywhere for the next bit anyway. And if she does, Meryon will insist she take the carriage or ride, so there will be others with them.”

That made sense to Michael. He had already noticed that since he had brought Olivia home she had yet to venture anywhere.

“The question becomes who will guard Olivia?” Lord David asked.

“When she is home there are enough people around her. When she leaves the castle I will accompany her.”

Lord David stopped and turned to him. “How wonderfully self-serving, Mr. Garrett. That is like putting a hungry midshipman in a room with a plateful of sweets.”

Michael laughed. He could not take offense. It was so accurate a comparison. “I like to think I have more self-control than a midshipman. If not, I shall find my sweets elsewhere.”

“Not among the staff.” Lord David’s sharp words made his sentiment clear.

“No, sir.” Now he felt like the footman.

With a curt nod Lord David Pennistan went inside.

“I
F YOUR FIRST NIGHT
here was hectic, the last few weeks have more than made up for it, have they not, Mr. Garrett?” Mary asked. She had set the bread to rise and was wiping down the table.

Olivia stood nearby. She had told him she was testing a new blend of ingredients for a sauce she was creating, something she was sure would enhance the taste of even the best fresh-caught salmon.

“Oh I have been busy enough, Miss Mary.” Michael tore his eyes away from Olivia and smiled at the girl. “Do not be thinking that the only work I do is sitting here watching you two knead bread.”

Mary giggled. Olivia was oblivious to the conversation as she stared at the bowl where she was blending this and that from bottles and small dishes in front of her.

“Last night I estimated that I have spent at least ten hours watching you knead dough.” With Mary as the unwitting chaperone, this time with Olivia was the one dalliance he allowed himself.

He could not be the only person in the world who found Lollie’s movements erotic. It was no wonder that he needed a long walk in the cold morning air before he went to sleep.

Michael had already developed a routine. It would have been anathema in wartime to be so predictable. Last night, when he had counted the hours he spent watching Olivia, he had decided to change his schedule. So, immediately putting the thought into action, Michael decided to stay in the kitchen longer than he usually did of a morning.

If he was lucky he would have a chance to see one more of those quirks of behavior that he would forever associate with Olivia Pennistan. When a taste pleased her, Olivia would close her eyes, lick her lips, draw a deep breath and sigh with a smile as though her lover had just made her the happiest woman on earth.

She was so vastly entertaining. The complete opposite of most of the Frenchwomen he had known. They had been so secretive. It was understandable in a France that had been decimated by men and women only too willing to send neighbors, lovers and friends to the guillotine.

He had come to believe that was what all intimate relationships were like, each one giving only as much as the other.

Lady Olivia had no such thought in her recipe-filled head. She shared everything she had and everything she was. There were times that he wondered if his fascination with Olivia was because she was such a novelty. Reminding himself of that helped him to keep his distance, but every time they were together it proved more and more of a challenge.

When Olivia slapped the table with her hand, Michael knew there would be no sigh of pleasure today. Taking the bowl, she emptied its contents into the bin that would be taken to the pigs.

“Aha, I see there will be no new recipe today but the pigs will have a wonderfully spiced dinner.”

Olivia put the bowl on the washboard and came to stand next to him.

“I’ll try again tomorrow. I am sure with the right blend of spices I can make a seasoning that will be as easy to store as it will be to use.”

“Lady Olivia.” Michael raised his hand. In the last few weeks he had also learned that she would talk endlessly about her latest food experiments. “While I take great delight in eating what you cook, in watching you prepare it, I am not at all interested in how you invent it.”

“Well!” He could tell she did not know whether to be annoyed or to laugh.

“You must have been told that before.”

“Yes, I have, but I was hoping you would be different.”

It was the honesty of her sentiment that made him worry about any number of things, from how long he could ignore the way she tugged at his heart, to how long it would be wise for him to keep working here.

“There are times, Miss Lollie, when I would happily listen, but today I am to finish the circuit of the castle with a tour of the Long Gallery.”

“Oh, oh, I want to show you that. Besides the kitchen, the Long Gallery is my favorite room in the castle.” She pulled off her cap and smock and smoothed her dress and stopped short. “You have been here this long and still not seen the entire castle?”

“Lord David showed me all that he felt was pertinent to my work, and I have awaited the pleasure of Winthrop for the other rooms.”

“It is a busy time of year for him and the weather has not cooperated at all. Did you know that one of the rugs was completely ruined when rain started precisely when it was not supposed to? The sky was clear one minute and rain-filled the next.”

“Yes, that is all they were talking about at dinner last week.”

“So I am guessing that Winthrop will not mind if I show you the Long Gallery.” She stopped one of the footmen to ask him to take the message to the majordomo.

It was moments like these that made Michael realize how spoiled Lady Olivia was. The world ran very much as she ordained it. She had no idea that what she wanted to do was not what others might think was just the thing.

“Do tell him that I will be there this afternoon to read to Mrs. Winthrop. I have the latest fashion magazine as well.”

And this time, as with every other time he’d had the thought, Olivia would redeem herself as she had just now. It did not make her less spoiled but the spoiling hardly mattered when compared with her generosity and genuine caring. He thought back to Mrs. Blackford’s description of her friend. Stubborn and sweet. Generous and willful. On most days the sweetness and generosity far outweighed the stubbornness.